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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618472">Anarchy At Its Finest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderdull/pseuds/wonderdull'>wonderdull</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>N/A - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gay, M/M, MalexMale, Riot - Freeform, Tank - Freeform, protest, slowburn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderdull/pseuds/wonderdull</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>MxM fic about the spec ops guy 😌💗</p><p>You've always been one to fight for what's right. Whether that means standing up for someone who is being bullied, or protesting against a corrupt system, you'll be the first in line.<br/>When your attendance at a peaceful protest goes south, you rely on those around you to keep you safe. They do a damn good job, until the tear gas and rubber bullets make an appearance.<br/>As the crowd grows more and more irate, you find yourself gravitating towards a tall, well protected man.<br/>Your choice to stand by this stranger will change your life.</p><p> </p><p>will update tags as I go :)))</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Say his name! George Floyd!"<br/>
"No justice! No peace!"<br/>
"ACAB!"</p><p>The turn out is significantly bigger than anyone expected, but there are no signs of violence or rioting.</p><p>You and your peers stand tall, screaming for what is right. Painted signs and banners fly high; strangers holding hands to signify that this is truly a time for everyone to come together.</p><p>You watch in awe as a group of protesters gets on the ground. Some kneel, and some lay with their faces in the dirt. Everyone around you goes quiet, and more people begin to kneel.<br/>
Eventually, more than half of those in attendance have taken a knee. A small woman with a big voice screams for justice and lists off the names of those who we have lost.<br/>
The emotion in the crowd is palpable, and you feel truly connected with those around you.</p><p>And then, the sounds of tires on gravel.<br/>
You watch, frozen, as more than a dozen cop cars approach the protest. Your heart sinks in your chest.<br/>
There is silence, save for the sound of engines ceasing and car doors opening and closing.<br/>
They approach silently, but you can see the tension in their shoulders as they realize just how incredibly outnumbered they are.<br/>
Still, you know you are in more danger than them.<br/>
At the end of the day, they are the ones with the weapons. And at the end of the day, they will not hesitate to use them on a peaceful crowd.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Later, the police have built a barricade of bodies. They pack together like deadly sardines, staring blankly into the crowd.<br/>
At first, you stand back. You are afraid. You see the weapons they hold, and you're no stranger to police brutality. What would they say if you or your friends in this crowd were fatally wounded? A water bottle was thrown. They were not following orders.</p><p>With that thought, you begin to push forward. You tap shoulders here and there to make your way through, taking care not to disrupt those so deep in their chants.<br/>
"Say his name! George Floyd!"<br/>
"If you are not angry you are not paying attention!"<br/>
In your current state, you don't notice the huge man standing in front of the cops. You don't hear him call them names, and laugh in the face of danger as he compares his height to theirs.</p><p>You only push forward.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. We Felt Threatened</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You watch, horrified, as the first tear gas canister is sent into the crowd.<br/>The blind panic of those around you makes you freeze in fear.<br/>People begin to run in all directions, scattering into each other. People fall, and others begin to suffer the effects of tear gas. Screams of agony come from all around you.<br/>You stare into the face of the officer in front of you. His badge number is covered. His camera is off. He begins to push forward.</p><p>The difference between a line of heavily armed, heavily armored police officers and a crowd of protesters is clear to see. One is there to serve and protect. To fight for what they believe in. The other is there to support a fundamentally corrupt, and inherently racist system. Which one holds the weapons?</p><p>Once they begin to push forward, chaos ensues. Some protesters run, fearing for their lives, unable to withstand the effects of the tear gas any longer. They make it home safely, and will likely attend another protest. You are part of the group that remains. This group is small, but it is mighty.</p><p>You push back, screaming for justice in the name of every POC and minority who has suffered police brutality and oppression. You and your counterparts link arms to create a wall, not willing to be pushed back just yet.<br/>Your mask is flimsy, it's the main purpose to hide your identity. It does not stand up to mace or tear gas. That day, you face both.</p><p>~~~~</p><p>You break from the chain and watch as it reforms in front of you. You kneel behind the crowd, eyes watering furiously as you cry out in anger and pain. A kind woman comes to help you, rinsing your face and eyes, and offering you a clean mask when you decide you're ready to go back in.<br/>You thank her, and you see her eyes light up beneath her mask. You will not forget her.</p><p>You take a moment to decide where you want to stand in the line, glaring at the officer who maced you. Your eyes catch on a tall figure at the front of the line. Without a second thought, you begin marching towards him.</p><p>As you approach, you see another tear gas canister land in front of you. You stumble backward, panic taking over as you forget where you were headed.<br/>A strong hand pushes you back and you watch as that tall figure picks up the canister, and throws it back towards the police.</p><p>He runs past you, and you catch sight of an Anonymous patch on his vest. Hot.</p><p>You follow him, and eventually, you catch up. He stands in the back, though he can still see over the crowd. (Again, hot.) You stand next to him silently, not in the mood for talking. You see him glance down at you from the corner of your eye, and you look back up at him.</p><p>You can't see anything through his mask, which is only mildly disappointing. Your eyes trail lazily across his form, appreciating the obvious time and effort he put into his gear. After a moment of staring at each other, he begins to move back towards the front of the crowd. You go with him, and he doesn't seem to mind.</p><p>For a while, that's how it is. The sun goes down, and more and more protesters begin to leave as the cops become more agitated and aggressive. A curfew is put in place, but you stand by the tall man. Though you don't doubt your ability to protect yourself, it's comforting to be near such an intimidating person.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Eventually, you are shot. It isn't fatal, but it hurts like a bitch. A rubber bullet lands a solid hit against your ribs, and you fall to the ground. <br/>Big Man, who you've now heard called "Tank" immediately moves to stand in front of you. Tension lines his shoulders as he begins moving towards the cops, leaning into their faces and calling them names. He doesn't seem to be afraid of anything.</p><p>You try to stand, but a sharp pain in your side stops you. Embarrassed and afraid, you begin crawling towards the rest of the protesters. They take you in with gentle hands and kind words, pulling you deep into the crowd to protect you.</p><p>That's where you are when you faint: surrounded by people fighting for their lives for a common goal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. We Need Change</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning you wake peacefully. The throbbing in your ribs hasn't yet caught your attention, and the blanket wrapped around you is warm. Your small moment of peace doesn't last long; your first attempt to burrow deeper into the warmth around you causes a sharp pain to shoot up your side. A quiet hiss leaves your mouth as you instinctively curl into yourself.</p><p>The figure in the corner stays quiet, a deep frown setting in beneath his mask. Your eyes open at the sound of fabric shifting, and you spot him almost immediately. Even with sleep still clouding your vision, his form is hard to miss. There, hands folded in his lap is Tank.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Hours later, you sit in front of a plate of bacon and eggs. You don't have much of an appetite, but you eat it anyway. You know you have to keep your body nourished to stay strong. Tank sits across from you, gear still on and in seemingly perfect condition. He hasn't spoken a single word to you all morning.<br/>Now, he sits scrolling through a phone that looks comically small in his large hands. You have no way to tell if he's looking at you or not, and you still have no idea what he looks like. You find it hard to hide your frustration</p><p>"So, uh... where am I?" you ask, voice coming out much quieter than you'd intended. Almost immediately, he sets the phone down and his head lifts slightly. Even though all you can see is polished black plastic, you can feel his eyes on you. You feel a strange sort of satisfaction knowing that you have his attention.</p><p>He doesn't respond though, and after a moment he stands and gestures for you to follow him. You frown slightly as he turns away, seemingly forgetting that movement is hard for you in your current state. Despite the pain in your ribs, you stand and slowly make your way to his side.</p><p>Once again you find yourself looking up at him, and your memories from the night before begin to float back to you. <br/>They drift in and out in pieces, more noises, and flashing images than coherent thoughts.<br/>More than once, you see Tank. You see him throwing tear gas back at the aggressors, and laughing in the face of danger. It all comes back to him. You're glad you're here with him now. If the situation wasn't so confusing, you think he'd make you feel safe. It's a nice thought.</p><p>Lost in your fantasy, you don't see the step in front of you until you're tripping over it. And before you can move your hands out to catch you, there's a long arm wrapped around your waist. Unfortunately, the force of an entire human being hurtling towards the ground is a lot, and it causes Tank to stumble as well, his feet catching on the step. Your fall isn't as bad as his, because one of his arms gets awkwardly caught underneath you in a strange sort of cushion. However, being 7 feet tall means you have a long way to go down. <br/>The two of you land in an awkward tangled mess of limbs, hands on shoulders and legs intertwined in a strange human pretzel.</p><p>You groan, the pain in your side increasing tenfold as Tank's arm presses into it. However, your attention isn't on it for long.</p><p>"Shit," He groans, his voice rumbling from beneath the mask "I'm sorry." <br/>The shock of hearing his voice so close to you causes the hairs on your arms to rise, your head snapping towards his. The disappointment you feel when you're once again met with hard plastic is honestly kind of silly considering it's been that way since you met him.</p><p>"S'alright," you mumble, carefully removing yourself from his hold. You hadn't noticed that his hands were on your waist until then and the blush on your cheeks makes you wish you were the one with the mask. He hesitates to get up, his mask tracking your face as you stand.</p><p>You reach for him, your hand outstretched in a clear offering of help. He reaches up and wraps his hand around yours, the size difference nearly laughable. You'd never admit how little you did to help him stand. 7 feet of riot gear made him one helluva hefty fella.</p><p>Now that you're both standing up and at least relatively unharmed, he continues on his journey across the house. He eventually leads you to what looks like a front door, and a large, heavily curtained window.</p><p>He doesn't look at you before he opens them, just stands and takes a deep breath. You watch his shoulders heave as he leans forward to grip the thick, black fabric and admire how wide they are.</p><p>Now is not the time for crushes. He opens the curtains.</p><p>The city is on fire.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The First Date</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You spend a lot of that first day crying. Even now you can't be sure exactly what emotion you were feeling. Some crazy cocktail of grief, pride, sadness, and hurt. The city you love was being burned to the ground. You aren't angry. Not at the protesters and not at your friends who are still out there, fighting gunfire with fire. <br/>Even before it was officially reported that the peaceful groups were being framed by undercover cops, you knew. They'd never let you be the good guys. That simply wasn't a story they'd let get out.</p><p>Tank left you after a while. You're not sure where he went exactly, only that you heard a door close before too long. You sat beneath that window for a long time, just thinking. Hours passed and you watched the sun fall with the city.</p><p>Eventually, he returned. You heard the door open and close, and his heavy footsteps approaching. Your eyes had closed sometime before, your head resting against the windowsill and your breathing quiet. It almost looked like you were asleep.</p><p>Suddenly you felt leather against your skin, a gentle touch against your chin. You jerked slightly, eyes opening and staring into the face of-</p><p>Tank.<br/>His mask is off.</p><p>Outwardly, you simply slam your head into the wall in surprise. Internally, you're screaming. In the couple of seconds it takes for the pain in your head to set in, you take inventory of what you see.</p><p>Brown hair, brown eyes. Full lips and long lashes. He's normal looking. There's no doubt that he's attractive, but you'd almost been expecting some sort of bearded macho man. In your head, that's what matched his actions.</p><p>"Come here," he says, eyebrows furrowing as he slowly reaches for the back of your head. His hand grazes your ear, wrapping around your head and gently leaning it forward. His fingers prod at the part that hit the wall and you hiss, jerking away from his hand and glaring at him.</p><p>"Hey, I'm only trying to help. I didn't mean to hurt you," he says, voice going soft towards the end, worry clear in his eyes. Without much hesitation, he stands and pulls you with him. You stumble a little, anemia, and lack of sleep causing your vision to blackout for a moment. One of his hands grips your shoulder, steadying you, and you quietly thank him.</p><p>He leads you slowly, carefully to the bathroom, and you stand awkwardly in front of the sink. He sighs quietly and reaches out, hands landing on your hips and gripping. And then he lifts you onto the sink. The small display of strength leaves you breathless, hands curling together in your lap as you stare at the back of his head. He grabs a small towel from the closet and wets it in the sink.</p><p>You try to hide the awestruck expression on your face as he looks at you, but you can tell you don't quite manage it when he smirks a little. Your previous thoughts about him being normal looking flies out the window as he moves closer to you, reaching out to wipe your tear tracks with the rag. You count the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, and try to memorize the cute way his mouth twists when he's concentrated.</p><p>"You might have a concussion," he says. Oh. Still, he's cute.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your night had passed in a blur. Tank picking you up (literally ugh), wiping your tears while standing between your legs, and then ushering you off to bed. As much as you'd have liked to stay up and think about how dreamy his eyes were, you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.</p><p>That morning he was up before you again. Your family had been notified that you were staying with a "friend" and were safe. You honestly didn't have a problem staying here with him. He made you breakfast again, this time serving avocado toast and freshly brewed coffee. You ate it like a starving man.</p><p>Another change this morning was what he was wearing. Gone was the mask and the riot gear, now he wore a soft looking t-shirt and sweats, his hair messy and his eyes tired. The two of you ate quietly, eyes not meeting a single time.</p><p>"So... what's your real name?" you asked nervously, feeling shy all over again as he met your eyes. Normally you'd be staring him down, shoulders squared and voice strong. Tank did things to you that no one had ever done before. Gone was that protesting badass who'd protected dozens only a couple days before, and in his place was this timid little thing.</p><p>"I can't tell you that. I've got a bunch of names, I ended up going fuckin viral on Sunday."</p><p>"Spec-ops," you say, smiling at him.</p><p>"Spec-ops, yeah,"</p><p>"Master Chief,"</p><p>"Master Chief!" he says, pointing at you with a smile of his own.</p><p>"I think I'll call you Tank," you say, regaining your confidence as you sit up straighter in your chair.</p><p>"That's a good one, too. What's your name?" he says, leaning forward in mock anticipation.</p><p>"I can't tell you that," you say, voice sliding deeper and eyebrows pulling together like his had. You see the shock register on his face only seconds before he throws his head back with a frankly sexy laugh.</p><p>Without meaning to you find yourself watching the way his adams apple bobs in his throat, and the way his jawline sharpens as he leans back in his chair. He catches you staring, but you don't stop. His smile softens and then sharpens into a smirk, and he squints his eyes as his eyes rove over your face.</p><p>He stands from the table, eyes never leaving your face. The muscles in his forearms flex as he pushes himself up and your mouth goes dry, pupils blowing. He stalks towards you with slow, deliberate steps, and for the first time since you met him, you feel like the prey.</p><p>He towers over you, and his hand reaches towards you, gently gripping your chin between his fingers.</p><p>"What is your name?" he asks again, his voice dropping deeper than you've ever heard it. His eyes go half-lidded as he leans closer to you, his eyes flicking down to your lips more than once.</p><p>"Answer me."</p><p>You close your eyes, mouth opening to tell him when suddenly he pulls away, standing to his full height and once again reminding you of how truly giant he is. His hands skim your shoulders on the way past, and he pushes your chair out with you in it.</p><p>"Stand up." he says, looking down his nose at you. You smile sweetly up at him and shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap. </p><p>While you haven't always been as shy as you are around him, you have always been a brat.</p>
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